Ridley Pearson - The Angel Maker

Boldt ran two stop signs and a light and pulled to within a few lengths of Lamoia. "I'm with you, John, if you need me." "Roger."

"Who's the Saturn registered to?" Boldt said. "One Su-Lin Chi," Lamoia announced. "Same last name," someone said. "For the sake of the radio," Boldt announced, "We call the passenger" Connie' and the driver, 'the Sister.'"

"Affirmative," came the various voices. "What about Connie's car back at Nordstroms?" Boldt asked. "Did it occur to any of you goons to have it watched?" The resulting silence disturbed him. "This could have been some sort of drop, you know? Did it occur to any of you that maybe someone wanted us to follow her, to lead us away from the drop?"

J.C. offered, "We've always got a couple of patrol cars hanging around the mall. You want me to put dispatch on it?"

"We'll take care of it from here," came the voice of Phil Shoswitz over the radio. He had been monitoring the exchanges. It caught Boldt-and the others-completely by surprise. It was extremely rare for this particular lieutenant to listen-in with the dispatcher. He didn't like field work.

The red Saturn signaled and changed lanes. "I've got it, John," Boldt said.

Lamoia pulled past, leaving the Saturn and Boldt to turn off.

"They're slowing," Boldt announced. He added, "Maybe it's only a gas stop. I'm going to pull past."

His adrenaline rush was immediately replaced by disappointment as he saw the car turn right into a gas station. "I'm pulling up short," said J.C. Boldt drove around the block and parked with a good view of the station. Lamoia coordinated his and the remaining car-a blue jeep containing Butch Butler and Danny Wuto cover either of two cross streets.

As Boldt looked on, he sensed that the driver of the Saturn was stalling. He announced this over the radio. The young Chinese woman filled up the small car's tank impossibly slowly, and only after it was, filled, while looking around anxiously and consulting Connie Chi in the passenger seat. There was also a kid of about eighteen across the street who was looking on from over by a Dumpster. Boldt assigned Butch Butler to keep an eye on him, so his own attention wouldn't be distracted. A self-service gas station was an easy place to steal a car-too often, drivers neglected to take the keys with them. Or perhaps the kid was a runner-someone paid to make an exchange with Connie Chi. Whatever his purpose or intentions, the kid was a variable that Boldt didn't particularly like.

From down the street, a dark blue, slightly beat up van approached at a pace uncharacteristically cautious for Seattle drivers. Boldt sat up in his seat, one hand grasping the radio's mike. The driver was nothing but a dark shape behind the silver impulse of the sky's reflection on the windshield. Boldt punched the button on the mike and said quickly, "Butch, Danny incoming, right behind you!" He watched from a distance as the two detectives turned rubbery and slipped down in their seats so that as the van passed, the jeep would appear empty. Slipping lower in his own seat, Boldt said, "I think we may have something here. Butch, you watch the kid. Lamoia, run the van's plates. J.C., if they break quickly, you take the Saturn with Lamoia. Danny, Butch, and I will take the van."

Donnie Maybeck drove past the gas station once to make sure the Sister's red car was parked there as it was supposed to be. When he confirmed this, he drove fully around the block looking for guys eating donuts in the front seat of their car: cops. Seeing none, he pulled in and parked next to an unleaded self-service pump. He climbed out and went through the process of filling up. In this way, he was able to carry on a conversation without ever looking at her. All of it had been the Doc's idea. Fucking genius. On cue, Connie's sister left for the bathroom. "Tell me about the cops," he said to Connie. "What is it now?" When the shit hits the fan, he thought, it really spreads around fast. "They asked about a woman named Sharon Shaffer. She's the AB-negative I gave you last week!" Involuntarily, he squeezed the pump so hard that gas bubbled out before the nozzle shut off. "And Verna's been asking me about my computer time. What's going on, Donnie? I don't even know what it is you do with that database. Some extra money, that's all. That's what you said. I got a feeling I don't want to know." She paused, then contradicted herself: "What do you do with it?"

He tried to keep calm. When he got uptight, he tended to do stupid things. Same thing all his life. His big temptation right now was to lose her-to turn the hose on her, light a match, and watch her fry. He had stolen some plates and bolted them on before coming here-he wasn't that stupid. He could lose the van if he had to, torch it as well. Burn, baby, burn. If he had ever had a tattoo, that's what it would have said. Nothing he liked quite so much as seeing something burn. Except of course the sight of money. Cash. Or ass. He liked that a lot, too.

Squeeze goes the handle, poof goes the match. Zoom goes Connie.

Her hair would go first, then her clothes. if she was wearing synthetics-anything stretchy or elastic-they would stick to her skin. She'd be staring at him screaming, bald from the flames eyes beginning to swell in their sockets. "You don't have to worry about that," he said, answering her question. "I'm scared," she replied.

Fifty grand. Fifty! A fucking fortune. A Harley. A trip somewhere. Who knows? "What I want you to do … " he started, trying to think like the Doc, but losing his train of thought to anger. His temper was the problem. It had always been the problem. It ran away from him. As a kid on the streets-he'd been alone on the streets since he was thirteen-he had learned how to play tough. Tough, combined with a bad temper, meant violence. At fifteen he'd killed his first person-a junkie looking to roll him. He got pissed off and cut the guy with a bottle and then left him to bleed to death. At seventeen he killed a prostitute-after the act, which had been his first because he didn't have the money to pay her. That had been Spokane. He left because her pimp was out to zoom him. In Seattle he'd been arrested for purse snatching. He served six months in a J.D. reform, and the offense was kept off his record. He was eighteen when he got out, and the state arranged vocational training that eventually led to a job with Norwest Power and Light. For nearly two months his life had been real." And then that day doing shit work on the top of a newly installed high-voltage tower-he saw the Doc digging a grave: The Secret. A chance at some real money. Things had been different since then. "Can you take Sharon Shaffer's name out of that database?"

"What about the police?" "I asked you a question." This was how the Doc dealt with him, and it felt good to pass it on. It felt real good. "Can you erase a file? Erase a file for good?" He pulled the hose from his tank and replaced it in the pump, still wondering if it wouldn't be smarter to hose her down. "Erase a record from data processing, you mean? I don't know if I can. I suppose it must be possible. But I've never tried."

"I want you to try. The Shaffer file. it's important.

You understand." He gave her a look then charles Bronson on a particularly bad day. Maybe Brando. How would the Big Man handle this one?

She hesitated. It pissed him off. Her sister was hovering around the candy counter looking impatient. He decided to pay up. He opened the van's door and took the keys. He left the door open because she answered just then.

"I'll try."

"Damn right you will." He gave her one last look and walked away looking tough. I am tough, he convinced himself.

When he reached the station, he looked away as her sister passed because he didn't want her getting a good look at him. You had to keep your options open.

He had to climb a small platform to pay at the cash register.